


Take a Breath, Settle Down

by AetherSeer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Intimacy, M/M, Multi, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-29 20:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/pseuds/AetherSeer
Summary: Andre’s never seen something quite as beautiful as Alex Ovechkin deep in subspace. And the tiny glimpse he’s gotten just makes him want it more. But Andre’s not going to step a toe over the line when it comes to what’s clearly Nicke’s territory. That’s just asking to be ground into paste by his countryman, and Andre likes being alive, thank you very much.





	Take a Breath, Settle Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nothanksweregood (foreverkneeld)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverkneeld/gifts).



> I wrote this piece for nothanksweregood (eavis) as part of the ALL CAPS Exchange 2018. I hope you like it.

Andre’s been in the NHL for two years now, and he’s seen how different players respond to the pressure. He’s seen Tom sink to his knees after a bad game and wait for anyone (usually Latts, but sometimes Schmidty or Williams will step up) to pull him between their thighs and let him breathe. He’s seen Holts muscle a willing defenseman against the wall and lay possessive bites down the guy’s throat and shoulders more than once after a win; and Grubi slowly, slowly coaxing Holts down from fair-murderous rage after a particularly bad loss.

He’s still never seen something quite as beautiful as Alex Ovechkin deep in subspace, though. And the tiny glimpse he’s gotten just makes him want it more. But Andre’s not going to step a toe over the line when it comes to what’s clearly Nicke’s territory. That’s just _asking_ to be ground into paste by his countryman, and Andre likes being alive, thank you very much.

So when he’s jittery after a pretty shameful loss to the Penguins, he’s not expecting Nicke to pull him aside. “Come home with us tonight,” Nicke says quietly in Swedish.

Mackan’s the only one who could possibly understand—and he’s on the other side of the room with Kuzy—but Andre feels his cheeks heat. “With you and—?” he squeaks.

“And Alex, yes.” Damn Nicke for always being so calm and unruffled. Andre’s sure his blush can be seen from space and he hopes it can be chalked up to exertion or something.

 

Andre fidgets the entire ride back to Nicke’s place. He feels like a child, sitting in the passenger seat and unable to keep still. He follows Nicke into the house and stops short in the kitchen. Alex is waiting for them there, his game collar switched out for something clearly more personal and well-worn, a gleam of gold sitting just below his Adam’s apple.

Nicke hooks a finger into Alex’s collar and pulls him close. He doesn’t say anything, just lets the pressure of the leather against Alex’s neck do the work for him. Alex ducks his head, and raises Nicke’s other hand to his lips to press a featherlight kiss against the palm.

Andre’s never seen Nicke smile like this before, soft and warm as he strokes a finger down the column of Alex’s throat. He swallows, feeling like he’s intruded on a private moment.

The moment breaks when Alex steps back and flashes a toothy grin at Andre. Andre’s mouth runs dry. _Is this really happening?_

Nicke waves them upstairs, and Andre trails after Alex as he takes the stairs two at a time. He pauses at the door to what is clearly a guest room. “Is Nicke not coming?”

Alex’s fingers pause on the buttons of his shirt. “He getting things ready. Just you and me to start.”

Andre takes two steps in; Alex has succeeded in stripping himself of his shirt and is working on his belt when Andre reaches out to still his hands. “Let me?” he asks.

Alex slides his hands out and up, dropping them to his sides as Andre takes over unfastening his belt and pants. When Andre glances up, Alex’s expression is familiar fondness, indulgent. Andre pulls the pants down over Alex’s hips and ass, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Alex’s shorts to bring them with; Alex obediently steps out of them when Andre pushes lightly at his hip.

Once he’s gotten Alex down to his skin, Andre doesn’t know what to do next. His time in juniors was full of rushed experimentation, doms and subs figuring out the bare basics of their dynamics and what they liked. Bouncing between Hershey and Washington hadn’t left him with a regular partner, and while Tom and Mike are happy to fold him into a scene, that isn’t anything like—

“Burky, come sit.”

Alex reclines on the bed, shoulders half-propped up by fluffy pillows. He leaves plenty of space next to him and makes grabby hands at Andre. Andre shucks his own clothes down to his briefs and goes, stiffly laying down next to his captain. Alex hums and tugs at Andre until Alex is half-under Andre’s lanky frame, Andre’s legs split wide around Alex’s thighs.

“Uh …”

“Too much think,” Alex scolds. “Pay attention to what sub needs, make sub happy.”

“You need me to be … blanket?” Andre’s literally never been in this situation before. His previous partners had liked to be held down, yeah, but like, during sex. This … this isn’t sex. He doesn’t know what this is. But Alex’s eyes are half-lidded, and his shoulders are slowly sinking lower into the soft coverlet, muscles relaxing more beneath Andre’s weight.

It’s … nice, having Alex trusting and calm beneath him. Andre takes the opportunity to trace the veins in Alex’s arms from shoulder to wrist, callouses catching against the fine hair on Alex’s forearms. Alex sighs. Andre glances at Alex’s face, but there’s no sign of displeasure or tension, so he continues his exploration. He skirts the tattoo on Alex’s ribs when Alex’s stomach muscles jump, and strokes over the lightly-furred plane of Alex’s chest.

Thumbing over Alex’s nipples don’t get him much of a response, but dancing his fingers over Alex’s collarbone does—Alex’s hips shift beneath Andre, jerking upwards as Andre presses against the delicate skin just below his collar. Andre does it again once more, just for curiosity’s sake, and then continues his slow exploration. He can feel the tense muscle between the ball of Alex’s shoulder and the curve of his neck, and digs a thumb in.

Alex’s pained groan is loud against the previous quiet. Andre glances back at Alex’s face; Alex pats Andre’s hip. “Good pain,” he says.

“Do you want—I’m … massage?” Andre offers hesitantly.

Alex nods approvingly. Andre flushes and kneels up to let Alex turn over to his stomach. Alex takes the opportunity to get his arms out above his head and stretch, mimicking the pull against invisible restraints. Andre swallows, his mouth running dry.

It’s not like he’s never seen Alex naked. He has. They’re hockey players, and nudity’s part of locker room life. But Andre’s never _looked_ before, never seen Alex like this. He doubts many have, given … given Nicke’s entire existence, really. Andre knows the story as well as anyone else in the League—how a 21-year-old Alex had seen quiet 19-year-old Nicke and hadn’t offered his submission to anyone else since.

But Alex is spread out beneath Andre, now, and Andre’s hit with a wave of self-doubt. Andre’s not … he’s no Nicke, and Alex is his _captain._

Alex turns his head to rest his cheek against the bedspread, eyeing Andre over his own shoulder. “Breathe,” he instructs. And his tone is similar enough to his captain voice that Andre is inhaling before he realizes.

His hands have moved without his permission, settled low on Alex’s back on either side of his spine. Andre traces the bold strokes of Alex’s tattoos—he doesn’t know what they mean, and Alex doesn’t offer a translation. Alex sighs and his fingers flex against the pillow.

Andre nods to himself and adjusts his stance, his knees nudging up against the bottom of Alex’s ribcage. Alex groans when Andre puts his hands on his shoulders and leans his weight into the motion. Andre avoids anything too complicated, but he can at least work out some of the tension Alex carries.

Alex is rarely quiet—he’s a big personality on the ice, in the locker room, with fans and media—but here, beneath Andre, he’s reduced to appreciative murmurs and soft exhalations. Andre’s jitters fade away as he focuses on Alex and Alex’s trusting confidence.

Alex wiggles beneath Andre’s thighs; Andre clamps them tighter around Alex’s ribs. Alex peeks at Andre over his shoulder, eyes bright. Andre narrows his own eyes, and grins when Alex tries and fails to move out from under his weight. “You actually want to change position, or just testing me?”

Alex huffs. Still not talking, then. Andre lifts up, just a little, and resettles when Alex rolls over. He takes a chance and pins one of Alex’s wrists to the mattress, leaning just a little weight on it. Alex lets out a soft exhalation.

Huh. Okay. Andre can work with that. Alex might outweigh him by a good 15 kilos, but Andre has the better positioning to keep him pinned. He adjusts carefully, and flattens Alex to the mattress. Alex bucks up, fights against Andre’s hold for a moment. His chest heaves. But there’s no safewording, there’s no panic. Just testing.

Andre doesn’t budge. He knows he can hold Alex down like this, for as long as Alex needs him to. Alex tenses, tenses again, strains. And then slumps back, eyes fluttering shut.

Nicke makes a soft noise from the doorway, and Andre jerks his head up. “I—”

Nicke raises an eyebrow. “You,” he prompts.

Andre glances back at Alex beneath him. Alex blinks slowly at Andre, like a cat. Andre debates if he wants to release Alex’s hands from where they’re pinned. He instead pulls Alex’s arms up higher, above his head, and holds his wrists with one hand. Alex sighs. Andre strokes his fingertips down the soft skin of Alex’s exposed ribs.

“This isn’t what I expected when you invited me,” Andre says in Swedish, hoping Alex doesn’t understand.

“Dynamics aren’t sex,” Nicke says. He hasn’t moved from the doorway. His eyes track down Alex’s body where Alex lies quietly pinned. “It can _involve_ sex, and a lot of people enjoy that, but that’s not all it is. It’s making sure you trust each other. Taking care of each other. Giving him what he needs when he needs it most.”

He smirks. “And also having _really good sex._ ”

Andre rolls his eyes, makes a face. He _knows_ that. It’s not like he’s inexperienced—thank you, Mike and Tom and Nick. But tonight … tonight isn’t heading that way. Not with Alex soft and vulnerable beneath him.

Nicke sets the plate of cut fruit on the nightstand and drops a kiss on Alex’s sternum. Alex murmurs softly, turning his head to focus on Nicke. Nicke eyes the two of them and climbs into the bed next to them. He taps Andre’s hip, tugs him over to put Alex in the middle of a Swede sandwich.

Andre snugs up against Alex’s back, pulling Alex’s arms back down, crossing his wrists over his chest. His fingers wrap back around, holding Alex firmly.

Nicke passes Andre the plate of fruit, keeping half an orange for himself. “You’re doing well,” he says softly. “Alex needs to know someone has him handled after a loss like that. Needs to know he’s still good.”

Alex peers up at Nicke, definitely recognizing his name in all the Swedish. Nicke holds an orange segment to Alex’s lips, stroking Alex’s hair. When Alex finishes chewing and looks up expectantly, Nicke nudges him over to look at Andre instead.

Andre considers his options, and holds out a grape in offering.

Handfeeding is not something Andre’s ever done before. It’s old-fashioned, and the life of a hockey player doesn’t really allow for it—not with the sheer amount of calories they have to eat every day. But this, feeding Alex pieces of fruit with Nicke there … it’s intimate.

And Andre can see the effect it’s having on Alex, too. Andre might have started the process by working out the actual physical tension, but Alex is sinking down further into subspace with each neat bite and sweet word from Nicke.

Andre feeds his captain a bite of apple, adds his own murmured praise to Nicke’s litany of soft English. Yeah, he can do this.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please let me know if you find typos and/or mistakes so I can fix them. And you can find me at [ficcinghell](http://ficcinghell.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. My inbox is always open.


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